


Discovery

by WaywardPrimrose



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Healing, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardPrimrose/pseuds/WaywardPrimrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fitz, what are these?” Jemma asked suspiciously as she leafed through a two inch thick pile of print outs, recognition was swiftly followed by intuition and disbelief battling each other out as she puzzled over the documents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> AU: Established Relationship Verse. Spoilers for Season 1 and half of Season 2.

“Fitz, what are these?” Jemma asked suspiciously as she leafed through a two inch thick pile of print outs, recognition was swiftly followed by intuition and disbelief battling each other out as she puzzled over the documents. 

Semi-detached from her emotional reaction she automatically analyzed the results. The subject was clearly improving, gradually but not supernaturally. It didn’t seem likely the results belonged to an asset, after all if they did why would they be here, in Fitz’ quarters? In his private desk draw… which she had opened on a perfectly valid pretense of looking for a pen to do the New York Times Crossword…. 

As Simmons read over the data she bit her lip. Everything had been so idyllic a moment earlier, lazing around in the satin pajamas she’d bought specifically for sleepovers like this. They weren’t as comfortable as her flannel ones but she liked he way the shiny fabric invited Fitz to run his fingers back and forth across her arms or legs while they were talking in bed. Not that he needed much in the way of invitation. With each interlude their relationship and interactions had become more fluid and less nervous, just as they had always moved and worked in harmony in the lab, they were now increasingly learning to share their private space in the same way. 

When Fitz emerged from the bathroom clad only in shorts he looking relaxed until he recognized the folder and the documents, then suddenly he was stricken. “Don’t look at those!” he objected. But he knew it was too late.

“Are these what I think they are? Oh Fitz. I’m not sure whether to hit you with them or cheer. I’m so proud of the progress you’ve made, but surely you can’t think these matter.” 

“They do. Well they did. Okay they still do, but maybe a little less now,” Fitz stuttered awkwardly.

“Explain yourself,” Jemma prompted sitting down on the bed. 

Fitz sat next to her defeated, he had to confess, there was no hiding it from her not now, not how they were together. “After the accident it was necessary to measure my performance to assess the extent of my injury. When there seemed to be some improvement in my functioning I realized that it might be useful to monitor my performance over time to assess my situation.” 

“Your situation is that you’re brilliant. You will always be brilliant to me Fitz you know that.”

“But I’m not like I was. And I know the tests weren’t good for me, not for a long time, they made me angry, watching those pitifully small numbers creep up marginally just confirmed what we knew. People don’t recover from that level of impairment. I’ll never be what I was.”

“No you’re better. You’re this man, the one I’ve fallen in love with. I keep telling you Fitz change isn’t always a bad thing. You used to think your way through ever obstacle, now you think around them, that’s smarter really. And who is anyone to measure intelligence? These are just numbers. We’ve both met and worked with supposed geniuses that were absolute rubbish in the lab and in the field.” 

“I know Jemma. But it matters.” 

“I wish it didn’t. But I am happy for you. These are good Fitz. They show your brain is adapting. That’s marvelous.”

Fitz shrugged. “I was two standard deviations about the norm on an adult IQ test when I was 8. It’s nothing to write home about.” 

“You haven’t told your Mum then?”

Fitz shook his head. “There’s nothing to tell her.” 

“But there is. She’d be proud of this. Of you. Fighting back. Finding your way. I’m proud of you Fitz. But please, don’t obsess over the numbers, they’re just one way of measuring a person, they don’t measure the work we do here or the person you are.”

“I took more than one type of test Jemma,” Fitz corrected horrified that she would think him so silly as to use such a limited range of assessment tools. 

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Jemma grinned, and this time she did swat at him with the folder. “Now put them away and climb into bed. I want to do the crossword puzzle.” 

“On paper? Isn’t that last week’s edition? Wouldn’t a tablet be more practical?”

“Hush. It’s a tradition. Coffee in bed with the crossword puzzle and the man I love.”

“We’ve never done this before.”

“Exactly, all traditions start somewhere. Now get into bed before Coulson changes his mind about giving us the morning off,” Jemma instructed. 

“Yes ma’am,” Fitz agreed. He held the folder for a moment in his hands, feeling its weight in more ways than one, and then he turned and dumped it into his trash can, he had of coursed backed up his results in his personal private files, everything important was always stored digitally, but the print outs were about something else, about having tangible evidence of who he was now. He no longer needed that. The most tangible evidence of his life was sitting before him in her pajamas. Fitz smiled as he gazed adoringly at her from his position beside the bed. “But I thought you said there was coffee? I suppose I’m supposed to make that. Some people just invite themselves over and then expect to be waited on hand and foot,” he teased. 

“You asked me to come in for coffee, there was none last night so you owe me one.” 

“Nobody actually expects there to be coffee. It’s an an an….” The word was on the tip of his tongue. It was something from English class. That annoyed him even more than when engineering and scientific terms escaped him. Junior English should not faze him. But the word appeared. “It’s a saying,” he corrected, ‘idiom’ having currently misfiled itself in his memory. 

“Well it’s cruel. To promise a woman a hot beverage and then just use her for sex,” Simmons deadpanned. 

“Jemma!” Fitz moaned. Her sense of humor sometimes,…. Especially when they were alone… it was positively scandalous. He still found words like ‘sex’ and ‘orgasm’ a little embarrassing. But he was improving. 

Jemma grinned. “Coffee now. I’ll start on this. Don’t worry we’ll finish it together,” she promised. 

Fitz wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a double entendre (entendre – see – now there’s a word you could be forgiven for forgetting, why could he remember entendre and not idiom? There was simply not logic to why some words still escaped him, some of the time, but the situation had improved somewhat and he’d learn not to lose his temper every time it happened) or not but he dutifully set to making a pot of coffee with his little hotplate. He couldn’t be bothered getting dressed and going all the way to the mess when Jemma was here in his bed, warming her feet under his covers, leaving her fresh flowery shampoo smell all over his pillows.


End file.
